Crispins possess undisputed vigor

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By GARY SHELTON

© St. Petersburg Times, published March 23, 2001

ATLANTA -- It happened nine years ago. If it happened at all. There were witnesses. If you can believe them. It was a notable moment in family history. Or it never happened at all.

They are at it again, talking and squawking, berating and debating. Joe Crispin is chirping at Jon, who is chirping back, and their voices are rising to a point that everyone else has stopped to pay attention. After all, if the Crispin brothers were not ragging each other, then the other Penn State players might think they were in the wrong locker room.

The bone of contention, this time, is about the first time Jon beat his older brother in a game of one-on-one. It was a grand and glorious day, the way Jon remembers it. It was a dream, is the way Joe refers to it.

Jon: "I was 10 and you were 12."

Joe: "I think you're making this up."

Jon: "I missed a shot, then went by you for the tip-in."

Joe: "It never happened."

Jon: "Dad was there."

Joe: "You're making this up. The first time you beat me, I had taken three months off to play baseball."

Jon: "No, this was earlier. I remember it."

Joe: "I don't."

Jon: "Yes, you do. You were sick."

Joe: "Well, if I was sick, I think I had an excuse."

So on it goes. Welcome to basketball's babbling backcourt, where every subject is worth an argument, and every time is the perfect one for it. Listen, and it sounds like an auctioneer dealing with a used-car salesman while someone dribbles in the background. Brothers haven't fought like this since Romulus and Remus agreed where to build Rome.

They will argue over what restaurant to go to, and what direction to drive there, and whether the windows are rolled up along the way. They will argue about what to watch and what to do and where to go. They will argue because of facts, because of figures and, mostly, because of fun. If you have a subject, bring it to them, and they will argue it out for you.

Such is the competitiveness that has brought Penn State -- yes, the football school -- to the Sweet 16. It is the fire of the family feud that has brought the Nittany Lions this far because somewhere, between the yelling and the arguing, they managed to push each other into being pretty good players.

"They're psychos," is the sweet way that teammate Titus Ivory puts it.

Take this year's Hofstra game. Jon, the sophomore, picked up a technical foul midway through the second half. During the timeout, Joe, the senior, spent 21/2 minutes yelling at his brother over what a bonehead decision it was.

Ah, brotherly love.

It's odd what fuels a team's engine sometimes. For Penn State, it is the infectious competitiveness the Crispins brought with them from Pitman, N.J. Their ongoing squabble has given this team fire, and provided it with humor.

Before the season, a local television station was doing a commercial about Penn State basketball. Four players were sitting in a room playing Scrabble. Suddenly, Joe and Jon were arguing about the word "trifecta." One was on the phone with his father, and the other was thumbing through a dictionary.

The others? They were trying to determine if it was live or Memorex.

It always has been this way. When they were kids, they would go after each other at every opportunity. True, most brothers fought. But this was like picturing Cain and Abel playing board games.

"We were crazy," Joe said. "There's a long list of stories. We'd play living room football, and we'd put each other into the wall. It didn't matter what it was. Candyland or Sorry! at grandmother's. Backyard football. Whiffle ball. Dunking on the 7-foot basket. Anything."

"Did he tell you he cheated at Candyland?" Jon said.

He cheated at Candyland? Candyland? Can you imagine a younger brother's scars.

"It hurt me," Jon said. "Deeply."

"That's how competitive I was," Joe said. "I started cheating at age 3. How many kids can even figure out how to cheat at age 3? I don't cheat anymore, though. That isn't Jesus."

And so it went. Every day. Every game. In the history of the Crispins, there were a lot of games started, and darned few finished.

"We'd go to the school and play," Jon said. "We'd start out, and someone would make a play, and someone would call a foul, and someone would disagree, and someone would leave. It could be either of us. We're each other's best friend and worst enemy."

Perhaps that sounds odd, given the current climate of sporting siblings. Compare these two with the Williams sisters, for instance, who seem intent on not playing each other on the tennis court.

"My dad was just the opposite," Jon said. "He wanted us in each other's face. He wanted us making each other tougher, physically and mentally. He'd say, "Go after each other.' " These days, Joe and Jon are teammates. Guards. Joe averages 19.7 points. Jon averages 7.2. Considering the stress Temple puts on opposing backcourts, the game rests largely in their hands.

"They're great players," Ivory said. "They're two deceptively deceptive white players who can flat-out shoot the basketball."

So far, the Crispins have been good enough to last until the second week of the tournament, beating Providence and upsetting North Carolina. If Joe gets hot tonight, and if Jon can penetrate, then this program could find itself one game from the Final Four.

And who could argue with that?

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